Fact: Forgetting is impossible

     Every time I cross a street I go through it again.  Every time I cross a street, especially not on a cross walk, I remember my fear.  Every time I cross a street I have to tell the people I'm with that I'm scared of crossing streets; I'd never tell them why though.  Crossing a street the  other day made me remember the events of my Junior retreat.
     Most people use their retreat as a time to get to know different people and become better friends with everyone, but  I'm all for solidarity, so even though I did become friends with people, that wasn't my revelation.  Many people get all sappy and emotional once they start opening up and letting other people in. My life changing experience had nothing to  do with anyone else in my class really.
     We were handed a piece of paper and told to right our sins on it or a resolution of some kind so we could throw it into the big bonfire later, of course, me being the unique and quirky girl that I am, chose to do something different with it.  All I had on my paper were two things.  Two names that I will never in my life forget.  Two dates that always come back around no matter how much it kills me.  Two events that really changed who I am.  There it was in pink marker written across the inside of the paper:

November 13, 2006

March 11, 2011

Luke Carter-Schelp

Momma Mansilla

     Two people, two tragedies, two unforgettable moments.  I didn't write their names on the paper so I could forget them and never be sad ever again.  I wrote their names so I could once-and-for-all learn to not let my melancholy get in the way of me living my life.  I wrote it for all the pain, for all the suffering, for all the tears, for all the sleepless nights, for all the emptiness, and for all the missed opportunities that effected everyone who knew them.  Not only did I write it for all the sadness I wanted to take away, I wrote it for all the good times, the laughter, the smiles, the lessons, the memories, the love, the openness, the understanding, the compassion, the crushes, the chances taken, the good decisions, and most importantly, for all the marks left on everybody who knew them.  I wrote it down so I could thank them, and learn to let them go; not completely, just enough so that when I get to see them again, I have things to tell them besides mourning.  When I threw the paper out I promised to only think of them with happiness and joy, I promised to let the memory of them help shape me, and not be scared to show it.
     With my note, I let them know that they will always be remembered and that I have them to thank for so much.